Thursday, May 5, 2011

Remembrance day

It's remembrance day.

We remember those who have lost their lives in war.

This day started out as remembrance day for the victims of WW2, and only recently the other war victims were added.

To me remembrance day is to remember the friends of my father. He went to England during the war and served in the RAF.
He never said much about it, so I only have a few facts.

I want to know more about what he experienced.
The past years I've tried to find more about him, but couldn't find anything.
The information about his army chaplain was also completely gone.
Like the two never existed.

Then suddenly some files were opened and info about the army chaplain came online.
They underlined what I already knew about him.

But nothing about my father was found.

One of my sons started to participate in the search and he found someone who stepped in and is now searching too.

Thanks G. for doing so.
Your last mail touched me to tears, and even when we find nothing about my dad, I know we have found a friend in England. Another person who has touched our hearts deeply.

Remembrance day is different this year, because there's a bit more hope of knowing more.
But we still remember all who have made us the people we are.
Including the family members who were killed in the bombing of our town, who were on the list of missing persons and were accepted to have died, and suddenly were gone from that list last year, like they never existed.

But they were on this world.
Their photos were on the wall in my grandmother's livingroom.
She remembered them and so do we.

She also taught me the poem that has become so very famous:

In Flanders fields

by lieutenant-kolonel John McCrae, 1872-1918

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
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